When I was 21 or 22 I told my mother, who was busy at the time
chiding me for what, according to her, were serious lapses in my
attention to my future, that I had as yet no regrets—that
everything I had done or failed to do to that point only added to the
sum total of me, which sum, in my opinion, seemed to be tallying up
just fine. It turns out though, 40 some years later, that I had many
regrets at the time. I just didn't know it.
Now that I'm shipwrecked and washed up on the shores of an uncertain
dotage, ill-provisioned and without prospects, all those early and
unseen regrets are coming due like markers to a loan-shark. Now I
understand perfectly all the places where I went wrong. I know where
I didn't apply myself as I ought, when I skated or took the path of
least resistance or effort, where I caved to idle self-indulgence,
and where I wasted monumental effort on things that were bound never
to pay dividends. I knew what I was doing when I did it...or wasn't
when I didn't, and I understood the consequences.
Those things don't bother me so much. I made trade-offs that I valued
one way at the time. That I have changed the valuation over time may
make my decisions lamentable, but it does not make the consequences
unfair. I got what I asked for...up to a point.
My problem is that now I think I'm well past that point. I'm past
Karma, past just deserts, past what I bargained for, and well into
the uncharted realm of cosmic retribution. I can say without irony,
'I don't know what I did to deserve this.'
Maybe it's that I made disparaging comments about the so-called law
of attraction. Maybe it's that I sprinkle my prayers with profanity
and vulgarisms. Maybe it's that I think Kim Kardashian, who seems to
have replaced Paris Hilton on the altar of American celebrity
worship, is a waste of otherwise useable oxygen. Maybe it's because I
believe that professional wrestling is more entertaining and
realistic than any episode in any city of the Real Housewives—ever.
Maybe it's because I think the Republican front-runner du jour,
whoever it may be, is a crackpot and ignoramus, but I'm still going
to vote for him because he will be correct on one issue—abortion.
Maybe it's all these together. Maybe it's something else entirely. I
don't know.
'Keying Up' a court jester fortifies his wit William Merritt Chase - 1875 |
I have to tell you that this is a completely unsatisfactory ending
for me. I'd like it better if Job learned something useful from the
exchange, even if he only learned that occasionally God will screw
you up for for His own amusement.
Believe it or not, this would make more sense to me than what I have
now in terms of either prospects or understanding. I mean if an angel
were to appear to me as if in a dream, and say, in effect, the court
of heaven needs a jester and that God would like it to be me, I would
accept the position and even feel a little honored. Doing pratfalls
in the Divine Comedy would be way more gratifying than whatever it is
I'm doing now, which seems to count for nothing. Maybe I am the court
jester. Maybe I'm providing entertainment for a fickle universe with
a mean streak. Problem is, just like with Job, no one asked and, so
far at least, no one's bothered to explain.
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